It was cold enough this morning that I finally fired the woodstove. I opened the flue, opened the door, put in two pieces of wood, and then turned to answer the phone. When I turned back, the woodstove contained two pieces of wood and a cat. It was a space that Henry hadn't been in before, you see.

I got the fire going and Becket snuggled up to the stove with body language that could only be interpreted as "Well, it's about time."

My house is so much warmer with a fire going. I'm not sure why it's different, but it's different.